


Every Little Sacrifice

by Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach (Llwyden)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Murphy's Law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwyden/pseuds/Llwyden%20ferch%20Gyfrinach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas in the Graham/Lecter household. Sometimes even empaths and cannibals have rotten luck at the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Little Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BakerStreetMuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerStreetMuse/gifts).



> Many thanks to amandajean for the beta; I hope you enjoy, Izzy!

_The only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers, and these flowers are every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love._

— Ste. Thérèse of Lisieux

 

_December 1 st_

Will was wrists-deep in a boat engine when Hannibal stepped into the doorway.

“Just a sec,” he muttered, securing the plate he was working on before looking up.

Hannibal smirked faintly, the expression that would be raucous laughter on anyone else. “I’m working on invitations to Christmas dinner. Is there anybody you’d like to invite? One of your students, perhaps?”

“No, thanks.” Will narrowed his eyes at Hannibal. “Not on either side of the meal.” He hesitated for a moment. “It’d be nice to see Alana again, if she doesn’t have plans.”

Hannibal smiled. “It would. She’s already on the guest list. Anybody else?”

Will shook his head. “You’re Mister Social; I’m sure you can fill the chairs — and the table — without any help from me.” He eyed Hannibal with a little trepidation. “How big a party were you planning?”

“Perhaps twenty people,” Hannibal answered.

Will grimaced. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to keep it to five or six?”

Hannibal gave him a look. “No.” He pursed his lips. “Fifteen?”

Will rolled his eyes. “What are we doing, bargaining for dinner guests?”

“Relationships are about compromise,” Hannibal answered smoothly.

“Ten?” Will tried.

“Twelve,” Hannibal countered.

“Eleven?”

“Done.” Hannibal nodded. “Thank you, Will.” His gaze swept over Will’s face, then he shook his head and pulled out his handkerchief. “As picturesque as it may be, I doubt you intended the motor grease on your forehead.” He tilted Will’s chin up and rubbed at the offending stain, his smile breaking free.

Will snorted. “No, but doesn’t mean it won’t just get back up there.” He held out his greasy hands in demonstration.

“Hm. Well, there will be less of it, at least.” He folded the square carefully and tucked it back into his pocket.

“One of these days I’ll find you with flour in your hair,” Will vowed, grinning.

“Not all of us wear our work on our faces,” Hannibal answered.

_Or our hobbies,_ Will couldn’t help but think. A part of him itched to catch Hannibal with other remnants on him, but there were dangers to letting that happen, of course.

“So, nobody but Alana?” Hannibal interrupted his thoughts.

Will shook himself and glanced back at the engine. “Not really.”

A hot glint in his eyes, Hannibal leaned down for a kiss. “I’ll leave you to your work, then.” He trailed one finger along Will’s jaw as he turned to leave.

 

 

_December 8 th_

Hannibal gave Will the look he normally reserved for singularly uncooperative grad students. The one that said, _I don’t intend on killing you, but there are times I’m tempted._ “I’ve already planned the menu.”

Will gave him a disbelieving look in return. “If you’re saying you couldn’t come up with an entirely new one by the end of the night if you wanted to, I don’t believe you.”

“If I wanted to,” Hannibal stressed. “Which I emphatically do not.”

“Fine.” Will crossed his arms and met Hannibal’s gaze in a challenge. “I’ll cook it myself. I may not be up to your standards, but I’m not exactly useless with an oven.”

Hannibal scowled. “I would still need to adjust the menu.”

“Your compulsive meal planning’s not my problem!” Will informed him overly cheerfully.

“You’re an ass.” Hannibal sighed. “It’s plebeian.”

“And you’re a snob,” Will answered equably. “It’s traditional.”

“Not my tradition,” Hannibal pointed out.

Will smiled thinly and leaned forward. “Fine. You get your tradition — tell everyone we’re eating pork and make all the puns you like — and I get mine. And you can cook it any way you want; consider it a challenge. Relationship’s all about compromise,” he added snidely.

“Fine.” Hannibal grimaced. “We’ll have turkey for Christmas.”

Will grinned, having gotten his way. “Parker knows a farm, completely organic. I can pick out a bird — they’ll even deliver it fresh if you want the feathers and bones and all,” he suggested.

“That sounds better.” Hannibal softened a little. “And I can cook it any way I like?”

Will eyed him. “I’m almost afraid to say yes.”

Hannibal smirked. “You know me too well.”

 

 

_December 12 th_

Hannibal tore through the neatly printed menu with a scowl. Will watched him stride to his desk and pull out more paper. “What’s the problem?”

“Doctor Niemeyer is bringing his wife.” Hannibal glared at the paper and picked up his pen. “Apparently, she is vegan.” He made the word sound like a curse.

Will did his best not to laugh; he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. “Couldn’t you just make a salad, like that time with Freddie Lounds?” The suggestion garnered him a sour look.

“Unfortunately, they’ll expect I’ve had time to plan, so there will have to be at least one dish which is meatless.” There was a glint in his eye, and Will had a feeling he was getting creative about the concept of “meatless”.

“She’s not allergic or anything, is she?” Will asked. Even Hannibal wouldn’t want to poison anyone. It would be too easily traced.

Hannibal’s smile was downright wicked in a way that made Will’s blood head south. “No. I made certain of that.” Hand to his cheek, he frowned at the paper a moment longer, then started writing.

Will laughed, and Hannibal glanced up, startled. Still chuckling, Will put down his book and came over to the desk. “You’ve got ink on your cheek.” He swiped his finger over it, then leaned down and flicked his tongue over the spot. “I think you need a better pen,” he said, his lips ghosting over Hannibal’s cheekbone.

“Do I?” Hannibal answered. He looked at Will, his expression softening to amusement. “I should look into that.”

“Don’t you dare.” Will pushed at Hannibal’s chair and tugged him up; Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will’s waist and smiled.

“Did you have other plans?” Hannibal asked disingenuously.

Will shook his head. “No buying anything for yourself after November. It’s a rule.”

“A pen?” Hannibal asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Anything,” Will said firmly. “You never know.”

Hannibal nodded in concession. “Then I should get back to the new menu. At this rate, we’re liable to have three more changes before the twenty-fifth.”

“In that case, it’ll wait,” Will answered, grinning. “Let me distract you.”

 

 

_December 17 th_

Will came back from dropping off the latest motor to its owner and found Hannibal packing a suitcase, a cold expression on his face. He leaned against the wall and watched for a moment before giving up and asking. “Sudden plans?”

Hannibal pursed his lips. “I received a phone call from the import company. It seems that despite their earlier promise they will be unable after all to supply the black truffles I need for the paté.”

“So you’re flying to France to get them?” Will asked, only a little incredulous.

“No,” Hannibal answered. “I am flying to New York to get them from another supplier.”

“Seems like a lot of room in there just for some mushrooms.” Will crossed his arms and nodded at the suitcase, ignoring the pained look Hannibal gave him at “mushrooms”. “Where’s the first importer based?”

Hannibal made a show of thinking about it. “New York, I believe,” he answered with a tiny smile.

“And naturally you’ll be dropping by to…what, make your displeasure known?” Will suggested.

“They did promise to help with the ingredients for my paté,” Hannibal said. “I believe I will hold them to that.”

“Just don’t get stopped by TSA,” Will answered dryly.

“I promise,” Hannibal answered, smiling at him. He snapped the suitcase shut and started for the door.

Will stood and intercepted him, pulling at the lapels of his jacket. “Very rude to break a promise.”

“I have no intentions of it,” Hannibal assured him. He leaned in for a kiss and Will met him enthusiastically. Hannibal pulled back after a moment, though. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much time until my flight.”

Will smiled. “I’ll hold the thought.”

 

 

_December 23 rd_

Will paused in chopping vegetables and frowned at the car pulling into the driveway. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.” Hannibal looked over from the stove, his eyes taking in the current position of every knife in the kitchen.

“Expensive rental,” Will noted. Hannibal relaxed a little and turned most of his attention back to the sauce he was stirring.

Will watched a moment longer until the driver got out. He squinted at the man and blinked. “Do you by any chance know David Bowie?”

Hannibal laughed in relief and surprise. “That would be Uncle Robertus. I understand he gets that quite a lot.” He wiped his hands and joined Will at the window for a moment, then hurried to the door. “Uncle!” he greeted the man, pausing to kiss him on both cheeks. “I never got a reply from you.”

His uncle frowned. “I sent it last week.” He sighed. “Oh, dear. I asked you to call if my staying with you would be a problem. It isn’t a problem, is it?”

“Of course not.” Hannibal picked up his bag off the porch. “You’re always welcome in our home.” The look he gave Will was as close as he ever got to panicked; Will imagined it probably translated to something like, “please find someplace to put all the extra books, instruments, and dog supplies we’re keeping in the last guest room.”

His uncle, he just waved inside. “This is Will.”

Will nodded politely and held out a hand. “Sir.”

Robertus pulled him in by it, startling him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s so good to meet you.” He pushed Will to arms’ length and looked him over, and Will tried not to panic, the sudden realization setting in that he was _meeting the family_.

“You’ll do, my boy.” Robertus nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Now, come, show me your beautiful house.”

 

 

_December 24 th, 6pm_

Will looked around as he hurried into the kitchen. Hannibal was whipping something in a bowl, and Will could smell meat cooking. Hannibal looked at Will’s face and sighed. “What is it now?”

“Alana called while I was at the post office. Her flight was late, so she missed her connection.”

Hannibal’s look this time was pained. “And the new one arrives?”

“Twelve fifteen. Which ought to put us back here around three in the morning,” Will noted. At least there might not be too much traffic.

“If I were a suspicious man, I would suspect this holiday to be jinxed,” Hannibal remarked dryly.

Will laughed. “Yeah, well,” he held up an envelope. “We did get your uncle’s RSVP. Where is he, anyway?”

“Down by the lake.” Hannibal set the bowl aside and reached for another. “He wanted to take in the changing light over the trees.” He frowned at the dark windows. “I’m hoping he’ll be back shortly.”

 

 

_December 24 th, 7:30pm_

Hannibal wore a pained look as he joined Will in the waiting room. “I was unfortunately correct. He’s broken his ankle and strained some of the ligaments. He won’t need surgery at least, but he’ll have a brace and need to stay off his foot for several weeks.”

“Maybe we are jinxed,” Will said, shaking his head. “How is he taking it?”

Hannibal thinned his lips. “Less upset about the broken bone, more that we neglected to go looking for him sooner. Apparently his sketchbook got quite wet.”

 

 

_December 24 th, 9:30pm_

“Please tell me that’s rain and not sleet.” Will rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“If you insist,” Hannibal answered, eyeing the weather balefully.

Will threw up his hands. “At least I’ve got four-wheel drive.” He pulled on his coat and gloves. “See you in a few hours.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hannibal answered. “I have an entire study downstairs to rearrange into a bedroom.”

“It…never mind,” Will interrupted himself. “I’m not even going to say it could be worse. I don’t want to give the universe any ideas. See you in a few hours.”

“You have your phone and it’s fully charged?” Hannibal asked, giving him a quick kiss.

“After today? Damn right I do.”

 

 

_December 25 th, 3:45am_

Will grabbed Alana’s bags from the trunk; she smiled tiredly at him and took the smaller one back. He waved her toward the door.

 Hannibal opened it before they got there. “I was beginning to worry.” He ushered them into the warmth of the house, and Will groaned gratefully.

“Accident on the highway; took forever to get past it.”

“If I’d known how much fun travel would be, I might’ve stayed home,” Alana quipped.

“And miss our company and cooking?” Hannibal teased back, smiling.

“That,” she acknowledged. “Plus I’d have been left with six or seven small children and one aunt’s incessant grilling about why I’m not married yet.” She took Hannibal’s hand warmly for a moment. “You look good, but I’ll be honest; Will’s caught me up on you for the most part, and right now I just want sleep.”

“Fortunately, that we can offer,” Hannibal answered. He tugged her in further and took the other bag.

 

 

_December 25 th, 6:30am_

Will startled out of sleep at the phone ringing loudly from the bedside table. He groped for the receiver and mumbled hello into it.

There was no answer.

“Hello?” he asked again, a bit more irritated this time.

After another moment of silence, he hung up with a sharp click.

“We can trace the number in the morning,” Hannibal muttered darkly.

 

 

_December 25 th, 10:00am_

“Nonsense,” Hannibal was telling Alana as Will walked into the kitchen. “We didn’t invite you here to play sous-chef on Christmas.” He gave her a smile and small bow. “Please, go eat breakfast. Will can help me.”

“As soon as Will’s had coffee,” Will answered, scrubbing his hands over his face and making a beeline for the fancy machine.

Alana gave Hannibal an indulgent look. “Being a guest’s never stopped you using my help before. Besides, I’m better with a knife than Will.”

“Not anymore,” Hannibal answered. Out of sight of Alana, Will rolled his eyes. “He’s become quite adept at slicing things, if I say so myself.”

Will poured his coffee and added a bit of sugar, then turned to lean on the counter. “Don’t worry; I promise not to cut myself instead of the vegetables. Wouldn’t want blood in the dinner.” Hannibal gave him a sarcastic look that Will returned with an overly innocent one he hoped said, “why should you be the only one who gets to joke about it?”

Alana looked between the two of them, clearly knowing something was going unsaid, but shook her head and apparently wrote it off as a couple thing. “Well, if you decide you need me, you know where I am. Until then, I’ll go keep your uncle company.”

 

 

_December 25 th, 5:30pm_

After all the trouble leading up to it, the meal itself was a bit of an anticlimax. Or it would have been, prepared by anyone other than Hannibal Lecter, who was not about to let himself be upstaged by anything.

The paté had been molded into snowflakes and garnished with a glittering dusting of something that made them shine. The turkey had been parceled out into little pockets of paper, folded back intricately to show the meat and vegetables. The heart in red wine was surrounded by a starburst of sauce and handmade pastas. The pumpkin ravioli (completely vegan, Hannibal assured the guests, and Will fought to keep a straight face) was beautifully garnished with greens and pomegranate seeds.

The whole thing screamed tasteful festiveness, from the tiniest side dish of shaped butter at one end to the large platter of delicately shaved meat at the other. The guests exclaimed over it and praised Hannibal as they sat, and he took it in with a smile and no humility at all.

He nodded and opened his mouth to speak — and the doorbell rang.

Will pinched the bridge of his nose and stood hurriedly. “I’ll get it.” The look in Hannibal’s eyes promised dire consequences to whoever was on the other side of the door, and Will would rather just eat tonight.

He opened the door to a pair of men in suits that screamed “police detective” with grave expressions on their faces. They opened their wallets and showed him badges from the local PD: McCormick and Richards.

“Can I help you, officers?” Will asked, immediately on his guard.

“Mr. Hannibal Lecter?” McCormick asked.

“Doctor,” Will corrected automatically. “He’s inside; we’re having dinner. Can it wait?”

They had the good grace to look abashed, and Will relaxed just a touch, though he didn’t let his guard down. “We’d like to speak with him,” the officer insisted. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“Will?” Hannibal called from behind him.

Will grimaced and turned to wave him forward. “They’re asking to talk to you.”

Hannibal eyed the officers, sizing them up in a way that was probably too subtle for anyone else to see. “How can I help you, officers?”

“Doctor Lecter,” McCormick, who’d apparently been given the job of speaking, said with a nod, “Sorry to interrupt. We’re looking for a man who’s wanted for attempted murder; he was wounded and may have been attempting to seek medical help under false pretenses. You brought a man into the emergency room last night?”

Hannibal rolled his eyes. “Yes. My uncle. Who has only, so far as I’m aware, attempted to murder a bottle of whiskey and my patience. I can assure you gentlemen, he is not the man you’re looking for.”

They sighed. Richards dug a business card out of his wallet and passed it on to Hannibal. “Sorry to bother you, sir. If you think of anything you might have seen that could help, please let us know?”

Hannibal took the card and smiled pleasantly. “I’ll be sure to get in touch.”

Will closed the door as the cops left. “Next year, we’re going to Florida instead.”

Hannibal tucked the detective’s card into his pocket and wrapped his arm around Will. “Venice,” he countered.

Will laughed and leaned into him. “Anywhere warm,” he agreed. “With no family or friends or anything to worry about.”

“Mm.” Hannibal smiled, and Will leaned in for a kiss. Hannibal stroked the hair back from his face. The look in his eyes was one that Will knew was reserved for him alone — fierce, protective, possessive, and loving. He hoped his own eyes showed the same thing.

After a moment, Hannibal tugged Will back toward the dining room. “Shall we? I believe our guests and meal are waiting.”

“Hannibal Lecter!” Robertus’ voice came down the hallway. “If you don’t come back soon, we’re starting without you!”

Hannibal sighed. Will laughed. “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
